Love Means Nothing to a Tennis Player
by Rosamundius Malloy
Summary: It was all pure chance—pure chance that she chose to play tennis that day, pure chance that he was there too. But why? Why force her to play match against her worst enemy? In the end, was something meant to happen? Was a fate? Or was it something more?


**Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing, sadly…not even the "wonderful" game of tennis…*gives a hacking cough*…yes "wonderful"…**

Summary: It was all pure chance—pure chance that she chose to play tennis that day, pure chance that he was there too. But why? Did the world hate her or something? Why force her to have one rigorous tennis match against her worst enemy? In the end, was something meant to happen? Something more than who won 6-3, 6-3?

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><p>She took another tennis ball out of the basket stationed behind her. She examined it for a moment, making sure that it was not completely deflated—or "dead," which was the term she heard more often—and pocketed it. She selected a few more balls, and once she was satisfied, she made her way to the baseline.<p>

She reached under her skirt and pulled out one of the balls she had just picked out. _Curse you Albus_, she thought. Albus was the one that made her wear the darned skirt. She had always—_always_—worn long pants when playing tennis, despite the summer heat. Albus—and her own father, even—had found her incredibly weird for wearing long pants in such weather. After seven years of pestering from her cousin, Rose had finally relented and wore a pair of knee-length shorts. Albus was still convinced that Rose was "mental," so he blackmailed her into wearing a skirt. It was not really blackmailing. In Albus' mind, blackmailing meant spewing semi-plausible lies to Rose's parents; needless to say, Rose was not amused in the slightest.

Rose had always wondered—and failed to understand—why Albus cared so much about her clothing attire. Rose said that the skirts were far too short to be decent, but Albus insisted that they made her look more "athletic" and less "dead," as he so eloquently put it. The real reason—unbeknownst by Rose—was that Albus wanted to find out how far he could push Rose into doing something he wanted. It was all in great fun, really.

Rose tossed the ball into the air, leaned back slightly, swung, and hoped that the ball ended up in the service box where she aimed for it to go. Luckily, it was "in." Unlike many other tennis players, she never had the habit of bouncing the ball an unnecessary number of times before she served. It never helped her concentrate (which was the original purpose of it) so Rose decided that it was a waste of time and energy. She could concentrate in other, far more effective ways.

Rose wondered who her next opponent would be. Apparently, her new opponent was a great tennis player and a very athletic young man; the coach was singing his praises. This "mystery lad" was about the same age as she was, give or take a few months. However, he was—seemingly—far more experienced than she would ever be. He had been playing tennis since he was five, which already gave him five more years of experience than she had (not counting the year she quite, that is). Rose had starting playing tennis at the age of ten after a "sudden realization of interest" and quit two years later when she claimed that she had "gotten tired of it"—at least, that was what she told others.

Rose continued working on her serve—which was, as she saw it, the best part of her tennis game—and thought about Hogwarts. Her mind wandered to memories of her friends that she would not be able to see until she term began in September. _Oh, three months was a long time_.

Maybe it was the fact that she was lost in her thoughts, or maybe it was the fact that her sunglass diminished her peripheral vision, but Rose failed to notice a tall, blonde young man walking side by side with her tennis coach, heading straight toward her tennis court.

...

"She's good competition."

Scorpius nodded, somewhat absently. He had not played tennis in a year; he was getting pretty rusty. He looked at the court his coach was heading toward—court seventeen, to be exact—and saw a pretty, long-legged red head practicing her serve. _Her swing isn't that bad,_ Scorpius thought, watching his "designated opponent."

He wondered how long the girl had been playing tennis. He hoped that she was more experienced than her was, for that meant a challenge, as well as a good excuse if he ended up losing to her. (Not that that would ever happen, of course.) He continued eyeing the girl—rather "appreciatively," if he ever dared to admit it—but was soon brought back to earth by his coach's voice.

"She hasn't been playing for long as you have, though," said his coach. _There goes my potential excuse_, thought Scorpius.

Scorpius' coach had a pensive look on his face, and was not checking to see if Scorpius had paid an ounce of attention. The man paused momentarily. "I think you have five or six years on her—she quit for a whole year when she was thirteen, a perfect three-hundred and sixty-five days. It was a pity; she was good." The man sighed and shook his head, remembering the girl's past and the potential she had.

"She's just as rusty as you are though—she hasn't played in months," the coach continued, not stopping on his way to court seventeen. He turned to face Scorpius. "She goes to a boarding school too, you know."

Scorpius did not seem to hear him.

...

Rose made her way to the bench and pulled off her sunglasses. She leaned against the metal fence that surrounded the tennis courts and sighed. She rubbed the bridge of her nose with her thumb and index finger. Picking up her water bottle, she unscrewed the cap and took a small sip, trying to conserve the little water she had left. She stood there, leaning against the wire, taking in her surroundings. What Rose really wanted was for this match to be over. She was going to lose anyway, so what was the point of wasting so much energy just to find out how? She sighed once again and shook her head. _Look at me, _she thought bitterly, _the resident realist turned pessimist has finally become a cynic._

Rose's head turned when she heard footsteps coming towards her. Seeing her coach, and failing to see the young man walking behind him, she spun around and quickly stood up straight. She made her way towards the man.

"Coach Sam," greeted Rose, nodding politely at the short, but well built African man standing before her. She opened her mouth to speak once more, but her voice got stuck in her throat upon seeing the young man standing behind Sam. He was tall and lean. He had rather messy, platinum blonde hair and turbid, blue-grey eyes. He was—she recognized him immediately. Her eyes widened slightly; they mirrored his somewhat shocked expression.

Rose regained her composure fairly quickly. She straightened almost immediately and smiled sarcastically. She folded her hands together greeted the young man in a manner one would a stranger.

"Ah…Scorpius Malfoy," she began, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "It's a pleasure to meet you." She held out a hand and he shook it solemnly.

"Oh no, Rose Weasley," Scorpius drawled. "The pleasure was all mine." He glared at her, and she steadily returned his gaze.

"Good," replied Rose. "I was not pleased in the slightest," she finished coldly.

Coach Sam shifted nervously at the animosity between the two teenagers. "So," he began, somewhat awkwardly. "You two know each other?" he asked, though it sounded more like a statement than an actual question.

"Unfortunately," Rose muttered under her breath, just as Scorpius mumbled something along the lines of "much to my displeasure."

Their coach nodded in understanding. "Well, you two better begin your set," he ordered, and started to walk away.

Rose nodded and made her way to the basket full of tennis balls. After selecting three decent balls, she turned back to Scorpius.

"Would you like to serve first, or should I?" she asked, forcing herself to be civil.

"Didn't they teach—" Scorpius began, but his sneer was cut off by Rose.

"I understand that we could spin a racket or flip a coin," Rose snapped rudely, "but I was just trying to be polite."

Scorpius glared at her again. "Well, maybe you shouldn't give off the impression that you're so stu—"

"Just spin your godforsaken racket, Malfoy, or find a bloody coin to toss." Rose was getting very irritated.

"Language Weasley," Scorpius tut-tutted, shaking his head mockingly. "Though honestly," he continued conversationally, "I never knew you had it in you." He paused, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "But 'godforsaken'—really? What happened to a nice old-fashioned 'fu—"

"Up, or down?" Rose interrupted, not at all amused.

"What?" inquired Scorpius, a bit put off by the sudden interruption.

"Up, or down?" Rose repeated, much more forcefully. Scorpius was really getting on her nerves now…

"Now, now, Weasley," Scorpius chided, as though speaking to a young child, "didn't your mummy and daddy ever teach you manners? I mean, you shouldn't interrupt others when they speak." He smirked, delighted by the very annoyed expression on Rose's face. "Problem, Weasley?" he asked, his smirk growing wider by the second.

"As a matter of fact, yes," replied Rose, in a very business-like manner. "I don't believe you want to be here anymore than I do, seeing as you are wasting valuable time with petty arguments." Scorpius looked as though he wanted to interrupt, but Rose continued speaking. "That being said, may I suggest that we just start playing this set?"

Scorpius narrowed his eyes. "Fine," he said coolly. "I would like to pick 'down,' thank you very much."

Rose rolled her eyes and spun her racket. After wobbling for approximately five seconds, the racket finally clattered onto the ground. She looked at the base of the handle. "It's 'down,'" she announced.

Scorpius had a smug grin plastered on his face. "I'll serve first then."

A sly smile grew onto Rose's lips. She knew that Scorpius was cocky because he had won their "coin toss of sorts." He had chosen to serve first, which—instead of annoying Rose—greatly pleased the girl. She always chose to receive first. It gave her a better chance to observe her opponents skills, and it gave her a chance to break their serve, if possible.

_This will be one interesting match…_

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><p><em><strong>Author's Note:<strong> And for future reference, this fanfic may offend those that are fans of Roger Federer…_  
><em>I apologize for any typos…I just reread it once…<em>  
><em>As always, updates probably won't be very consistent, so my apologies if you actually enjoyed this chapter. Please read and review, even if you didn't like it—I'd really appreciate it if you review though! *smiles meekly once more* Please…? :)<em>


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